


Musical Interlude, pt II

by Sionnan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:28:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sionnan/pseuds/Sionnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aftermath of Dave joining the school chorus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musical Interlude, pt II

Bro felt paradoxically way too young and way too old to be in school for a function. Over a decade older than most of the school kids milling around and chattering like starlings, and several decades younger than pretty much all of the parents trying to corral their children for one last ditch effort to get them to stop milling around and chattering like birds. And it made him feel pretty damn uncomfortable.

But hey, if Dave was going to haul his ass up on stage and in the spotlight and sing like a canary, the least Bro could do was feebly match the effort and go way outside his normal social group. Like, way, WAY outside. Standing on the buffed linoleum in clean, new bluejeans and a button up shirt he had neglected to button fully, he felt like an interloper. He briefly considered handing out tiny sample smuppets to the seniors, both in highschool and in old folks homes hanging around, the first for a new sales demographic, the second for the lulz. And then decided he didn't need the cops called on him and social services carting him away in cuffs.

The music teacher hovered in the doorway to the music room, and called for the people there to watch the concert to go to the auditorium. Aw snap, that meant he wasn't going to see Dave before the kid went on. Well, he'd see him after the thing was done, and they'd snag some food of Dave's liking to pacify his inevitable mortification. A passing father shot him a disapproving glance as he ushered his wife and teenage son through the auditorium doors.

Hell no. Bro would doff no hat for sake of common decency in buildings. He merely regarded the older gentlemen disappear, and shooting one last glance back to the diminishing line of kids filing into the music room, he steeled himself and plowed into the darkened theater.

He found a seat relatively close to an exit near the back, since most of the parents were wielding weapons and vying for the prime seats to watch their sprog, and checked his watch. It was due to start in another ten minutes, so he kicked back, propping his heels on the empty seats in front of him, and pulled out his phone. Might as well chillax and be a deviant motherfucker while waiting for innocent kiddies to belt out ill tunes.

/////

Dave fucking hated chorus. Hated it. All the kids were tonedeaf, and those that weren't didn't have proper technique, and sitting in that class was like an exercise of fucking patience. He should be sainted for what he had to put up with. But that didn't mean he had to be a dick and show them all up. For the most part, Dave hung out in the back of the tenor section, trying to cajole the other numbskulls in his section to pitch themselves according to him. It usually didn't work, which lead to some extremely aggravating dissonance as Dave sang the correct tune, and the guys around him sang out of key.

So goddamn irritating.

And God, that teacher was like a crow on carrion. She could smell talent. She was all over Dave the second day there, like he had some crazy homing beacon for correct harmony. So what happened to Mr. Coolpants Strider?

He got himself elected President Douchebag of Solo Land.

Dave Strider, precocious skateboarder, sicknasty rapper, swordsman extraordinaire-- singing a solo in a choral arrangement. He would have died if his dignity hadn't commited suicide the moment he signed up for this ridiculous shit. So what he had to do was make the sickest contribution to kiddie chorus since the day the firt brick of this shitty school was laid. Make sure no one was going to say, "Aw, yeah, that Dave kid. Man, I thought he was cool, but then he joined chorus, and he sucks!"

He tried not to fidget as they wended their way singlefile into the auditorium and onto the risers. He was already put off by the stench of adolescence and the futile attempt to mask it with deodorant and perfume, and he didn't need to look like a spazzbucket walking up there.

The teacher took her place in front of them, smiling her gross fake smile at the assembled audience, and then turned to them to mouth, "Smile."

Dave grimaced.

She raised her hands, and began conducting as the piano came to life.

First piece went by without Dave remembering singing it. Second he had little to do with, since the girls sang most of that to cover up for the male sections' suck. Third was his solo.

The backup came on, and the kids in front of him akwardly shifted to the side to let him come down. The spindly microphone beckoned stage front. Crap.

Man up, Strider.

He went down, the steps squeaking under his weight, and stood facing the audience, the microphone already preset for his height. He trie to make sure he didn't mouth breathe into it, standing well back until it was absolutely necessary to approach it. The face of dozens of parents loomed from the darkness, eyes glittering in the indirect light like a pack of coyotes. Oh God, this was unreal.

As he waited for letter C to come up, he scouted the audience. No sign of his Bro. Goddammit. He said he would be there, as soon as he got off his gig. He was probably yukking it up with his homeboys. Dave' stomach turned miserably as the piano started its retarded peddal to his note.

Why the hell was he acting like such a baby. Actually, it was probably better that he didn't embarass himself in front of Bro. He couldn't think of looking him in the-

-there he was. In the back, sitting forward in his seat. Dave, his view washed out by the glare of the lights, just managed to catch sight of the familiar, vibrant red cap in the back, cresting a doubly familiar set of sweet shades. His hands were locked together, elbows on his knees. He was watching Dave.

Dave took his starting breath, and Bro's fingers freed themeselves unconsciously to work at the notes, poking the pitch and swinging to sit atop notes, tapping the beat out lightly during holds. They had worked on perefecting it together, and Dave had been thankful, though he didn't say it, that Bro was a musical wizz. He had used hand signals along with pitches to help Dave memorize the note pattern. After a while, it became second nature, but Bro sang it with him so he wouldn't feel like an idiot alone. When Dave grew frustrated and tired of the lame music, Bro would only laugh at him, and Dave would come back every time, unwilling to be the only Strider to give up in the face of his brother's indefatiguability. Dave was a quick study himself, and soon enough he was listening as his brother sang harmony to his melody, turning the solo into a duet, to test that Dave knew his notes well enough to land them even when presented with a contrasting set.

It was probably one of the few times that Bro managed to teach him something that didn't involve puppets or swords, and thankfully, he didn't incorporate either, except for a few analogies scattered around.

When the piece finished, everybody clapped. Duh, of course. The teacher had agreed not to make him come down for a separate bow, so he just stood with the rest of the kids.

But in the back, Bro had stood up, raising his hands above the others so Dave could see only him, and even though it must have been impossible to hear them, Dave could have sworn he could hear his claps. God what a goon.

 

(But Dave still grinned.)


End file.
